"Oh," said Sally confidently, "I'm goin' to make a tea jacket out of a piece of China silk I got off the bargain counter the last time I was in town."
"What's a tea jacket?" asked Sally's husband, who had been listening intently, with a faint hope that some new shirts for himself might be the outcome of Sally's interest in the chart.
"It's a thing like this, Dan," said Sally, producing a picture of the elegant garment in question.
"Why do they call it a tea jacket?" demanded Dan.
"Oh, I don't know; I reckon they wear 'em when they drink tea," said Sally.
"But we drink coffee," said Dan argumentatively.
"Well, call it a coffee jacket, then," retorted Sally. "But whatever you call it, I'm goin' to have one, if I don't do another stitch of spring sewin'."
Dan was gazing sadly at the picture of the tea jacket with its flowing oriental sleeves, lace ruffles, and ribbon bows.
"I can't figger out," he said slowly, "what use you've got for a thing like that."
"I can't either," snapped Sally, "and that's the very reason I want it. The only things I've got any use for are gingham aprons and kitchen towels, and they're the things I don't want; and the only things I want are things that I haven't got a bit of use for, like this tea jacket here, and I'm goin' to have it, too."